


To Be Jason Todd

by n7s



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: One Shot, Tumblr, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n7s/pseuds/n7s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(short) Tumblr prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Jason Todd

You’re too young to be out in the streets but your home smells of booze and nicotine and you don’t have a home, home is felt, home is a safe harbor, bed and walls aren’t enough to be home. You think it’s your fault that he comes five hours too late and he hits her, and you think it’s on you she takes pills to forget. You blame yourself this isn’t _home_ and you wander the streets trying to find the right way to pronounce the word.

You’re too young to be out in the streets but your home is by _his_ side, fighting through the night and making people feel safe. An old lady insists she give you money because “you must be freezing in those shorts, boy!”. You look at him, you see him smile and you burst in a fit of laughter before you both leave. Home is felt, home is a safe harbor, bed and walls and warm food and being someone’s son are enough to be home. You still think some things are your fault but it’s easier now.

You’re too young to be dying on the floor of an abandoned warehouse but you are, you are, and he isn’t here. A crowbar has taken his place and you try to convince yourself this isn’t your fault, you were a good son and a good partner and you tried your best and— _does he not love me anymore? Did I do something I shouldn’t have?_ If it’s not your fault then it’s his. And if it’s not his fault, then you let him down. And it doesn’t matter because the blood has filled your ears. And it doesn’t matter because the explosion covers your thoughts.

You’re not young and there’s dirt underneath your nails and there’s nails in your heart and you pretend you always knew this would happen. You remind yourself you weren’t born in a home, that some things are and you aren’t. You don’t tell _him_ that when you’re facing him, you don’t let him know when you almost kill him, you certainly don’t say a word when he’s welcomed you back as a son.

You’re wandering the streets again, fully knowing how to pronounce _home_ this time, but it’s not yours to keep. Or it is but it doesn’t matter anymore. Or it is but it’s just a word. You’re thinking about how home was felt, and how it was a safe harbor after all and you do, you _do_ remember the bed and the walls. And you tell yourself it has to be enough for now, and you almost believe it.


End file.
